Damage control
by 898700
Summary: Rossi still is the president of the United States, Reid no longer works for him. This is a sequel for my previous story "The Secret Life of the President". I suggest reading that first, as otherwise this might make little sense.


**AN:** Early today I got my 1000th kudos on AO3. I've been feeling pretty down, so this basically made my day ... my week, my month, my year, you get the idea. I wanted to do something to commemorate the occasion, even if it is not what I would have preferred: you guys are amazing and deserve only the best; sadly I currently lack the spoons to give it to you. So here is, instead, an offering. The kudos was on "The Secret Life of the President", and thus I'll give you the beginning of the sequel for this AU. I'll be creating graphics to accompany this story, so I suggest you jump to AO3 to see the first two ones. I plan to add transcripts, just not today.

**AN2:** I'm not from the USA. All I know of American Politics is via LJ and Tumblr, so please correct me when I'm wrong. Also, English is not my first language and my brain is too tired, so pointing all grammar mistakes and such is welcome.

**AN3 and also WARNING:** When posting this I debated about uploading the fic on FFnet without the accompanying images, and ultimately decided to. It turned out to be a mistake, as they tell a part of the story and their lack makes the second part of this chapter confusing. So, beware: until I post the transcripts this might make you squint and wonder what the hell am I talking about. Again, if possible, I suggest reading this fic in AO3. And also, because I forgot to explicitly point it out: this story is sequel to an AU, and thus might make little sense if you haven't read the previous story.

* * *

"What about you?" Dave asked, looking at the only person in the room who hadn't voiced their support. He didn't dare expect for everybody to happily accept the path they planned to take, but his media liaison's silence was worrisome.

All around them everybody quieted, and in the increasing silence Jennifer Jearau directed a nervous look at Spencer before facing Dave again.

"With all respect Mr. President, I don't think you have thought this through."

He hadn't_ thought _it_ through_?

"If this is about my political future again-"

"How can you say that?" Spencer interrupted him. He looked every inch as furious as Dave felt, but also deeply hurt. He and Jearau were like brother and sister, and her opinion was obviously important to him.

Jearau turned to look at Spencer with a sorrowful expression in her face, but there was also determination, the same that made her damn good at her job.

"Wallis Simpson," she started, raising her fingers one by one. "Carla Bruni, Yoko Ono, Heather Mills, Angelina Jolie, Camila Parker-Bowles, do I need to keep naming names?"

That seemed to hit Spencer, whose eyes found Dave's for a second before nervously returning to her. "JJ, don't."

"Each of them known from daring to love, or seemingly love, famous men," she continued unflinchingly. "And for that sin they were called whores and liars, homewreckers, money chasers and many spiteful things I won't bother repeating." She paused and breathed deep, and Dave did as well because she had been right, earlier. He hadn't truly thought it through. "They were publicly lynched," she continued, "their names and faces printed in one story after another, each more false, hurtful and defamatory than the last. And that even if they were women other men secretly fantasized about." She let that sink before turning all her attention back to Dave. "Now I want you to imagine what is going to be said about Spencer."

Everybody in the room was shocked into silence, all but Spencer.

"I don't care," he said, and Dave could clearly see that it wasn't pure stubbornness what made him say it. Yes, Spencer was stubborn, but he obviously had given some thought to this even if Dave had not.

Not until now.

"But I do," he admitted, bone weary. "I do care."

"You cannot believe-"

"_Please_." Spencer hesitated but closed his mouth. Dave looked at the rest of his team. The people in this room, they were the ones he and Spencer trusted most. The two Secret Service Agents that were more often than not by his side and thus knew so much about him. The bubbly image consultant that helped him hide what had to be hidden and show only what needed to be shown. His Senior Adviser, the one who knew about his doubts and dreams, and how much he had had to sacrifice over the years. And the woman who had played such an important part on winning him the White House not once, but twice. "There are two sides to these stories, aren't there? Tell me, Mrs. Jearau, how do we flip the coin? What do we need to do?"

She blinked, taken aback, and then he saw realization slowly dawn on her.

"We give them Diana Spencer," she answered with a wicked smile, "Grace Kelly, Eva Duarte, Norma Jeane Mortenson".

Standing next to the door Morgan let out a confused _who?_

Spencer nonetheless grasped it immediately. "Marilyn died of an overdose," he complained, quite weakly.

"And Lady Di was chased to her death by paparazzi, and Grace fell off a cliff, and Evita died of cancer at a very young age. Still, they were strong women that existed independently to the men in their lives. Spencer," she paused, seemed to think her words over, "please let me do this for you. I promise-"

"Just … just … please shut up."

David waited with the rest of his team, worried, until Spencer sighed and all but deflated in defeat.

"Spencer?"

"Okay," he said, looking at him with a weak grin, but a grin nonetheless. "I'm sure I'm going to regret whatever steps it'll take, but the end it's worth it, so … I'll do it."

And the rest, as the saying went, was history.

Or, actually, not.

At least not yet.

* * *

"They are talking shit about you," Derek said, honest as always, as soon as Spencer picked up. The silence at the other side was only interrupted by a broken sound, and suddenly he realized what his words seemed to imply. "They don't know. Shit kid, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply - they don't know, nobody knows, you're safe."

He wasn't surprised when Spencer hung up on him.

It took two and a half hours, but finally he called back.

_"You're an idiot."_ He sounded put together, not a hint of tremor in his voice, and Derek took a moment to be proud.

"You saw it."

_"Yes, and I'm going to kill you the next time we meet. Nothing has been said that can't be disproved with currently existing evidence; hard, easily to find, difficult to doctor evidence. Which I assume is what Lynch is doing."_

"Yeah, well, not really. As far as I know they haven't done anything other than monitor the sites and make sure your fervent fans can't be linked back to you."

_"They aren't _fans_. Lynch-"_

"Admirers then, and seriously, kid. Neither Lynch nor any other of Jearau's minions is behind the people singing rhapsodies in your name. Apparently you've gained some well-deserved attention among the general public, along with your UN fanatics."

_"They aren't - they - Derek!"_

"Are you blushing? I'm going to tell Garcia you're blushing out of her sight; she insists it's a good look on you."

He wasn't surprised when Spencer hung up on him again.


End file.
